Jakarta Debrief
by impossiblepluto
Summary: Fresh out of the Army, and not quite settled in to DXS yes, their first mission, a joint op with the CIA, was a mess.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Set after the flashback events of 3x11 Mac + Fallout + Jack. It's three chapters in total. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoy it!

It's an easy rise to wakefulness. For that Jack is grateful. Not jolting awake from gunfire or nightmares. No sense of danger, even as he covertly assesses his surroundings and recognizes the dumpy motel room before his eyes have opened fully.

The room is this side of pitch black, teasing the impending dawn.

He allows himself a leisurely stretch, a few of his joints click more than he'd like to admit. The job isn't easy on the body.

This mission a technical success, they did stop the nukes, but a critical failure, at the expense of two lives. Their first mission with DXS. Jack's first mission after his return to the game. Not a great start out of the gate.

He's had worse missions though. He'll get over it. Learn what you can, and let go of the rest. Dwelling on it will get you killed. Paralyze you in the field and get your team killed.

He'll be fine, integrate the new nightmares into the rotation and move along.

It's Mac he's worried about. First mission as a super spy and half the crew gets killed. That's going to hit him hard. He's going to take it personally. Wrapped up in the idea that there was something he missed. Something he could have done differently. He's got an overworked sense of guilt and fear of failure that Jack could see radiating off of him the first moment they met.

Maybe it was actually the second or third moment they met. He was too busy punching the kid in the face the first moment.

This is just another hit. Another in the long line of people he lost. His mom, his deadbeat daddy, his granddad who raised him because there was no one else. His training officer later that same year.

Too many Army bunkmates to name, and now this.

He saw how Mac watched the Griggs and Hadley partnership. Nine years together. Almost longer than anyone's stuck around with the kid before. He watched their easy friendship, their mutual trust and reliance on each other with a certain wistfulness.

Hadley, sarcastic. Condescending towards Mac's lack of experience and how long Jack's been out of the game. Larger than life, and always has something to say.

Griggs kept his partner in line and didn't let the teasing get too rough. He made an effort to get to know Mac throughout the mission. Talked to him like he remembered being a young agent with no experience. Interested in Mac's thoughts. In an outside perspective that was not yet tainted by so many years in the field. Impressed by his improvising.

Unlikely partners, that complemented each other in an opposites attract working relationship, not unlike his and Mac's. They knew and trusted each other in ways only a long term partnership can. Nine years. A far cry from his and Mac's nine months.

Jack wonders if he and Mac will ever reach that level of implicit trust, and unspoken communication.

He sighs as he watches Mac, perched on a chair, knees pulled up to his chest. He's staring straight ahead out the window. Doesn't even seem to notice that Jack's risen from his bed come up next to him.

He doesn't want to startle the kid.

"See anything interesting there, hoss?" Jack asks. His hand rests on Mac's shoulder. The younger man flinches at the contact but doesn't pull away.

Their relationship is still new, tentative. Yet, somehow stronger than it should be. Jack signed up to go to hell and back, again, with a guy he'd only known two months.

Deserts and wookie life debts.

Galvanized by hardship. Forged in fire.

Actual fire. And firefights and bombs.

Mac shakes his head at Jack's question.

"Did you sleep at all?"

Mac glances up slowly meeting Jack's gaze. "Not much." He answers reluctantly , which Jack takes to mean not at all. See, he's already learning to read Mac's unspoken communication.

"Griggs and Hadley?"

Mac shrugs.

"You want out?"

"No," Mac replies firmly. Quickly.

Jack feels a measure of relief, but presses.

"Maybe this isn't what you thought you were signing up for?" Jack counters, studying Mac's expression.

"I know what I signed up for," Mac says defensively and pauses. "But maybe you don't."

"What are you talking about?"

"I just wonder, maybe if I'd been carrying a gun, you wouldn't have thought you needed to cover me. You could have backed them up. Maybe they'd still be alive."

"Maybe all three of us would be dead," Jack counters. In the gray light of the morning, he sees Mac blanch at that idea. "I'm your partner. Where you go I go." He squeezes the back of Mac's neck. Mac's eyes close, the strain of the last few days lifting off his shoulders at the contact.

Eyes stilled closed Mac asks. "What if I'm not cut out for this? What if I'm not enough?"

It gives Jack pause. It's rare to see Mac verbalize this level of uncertainty. The kid who casually walked into a building with an activated IED under Jack's boot and two minutes on the timer.

There's a certain amount of confidence needed to be EOD, and Mac was, is still, one of the best. Smartest guy Jack's ever met too. Mac's knowledge and skills already make him the most valuable intelligence asset he's ever known.

But it's a similar question he's been asking himself about Mac. Maybe the kid deserved to rest. Deserved a life. Mac talks about using his skills for good. To save the world, but Jack's sure he could do just as much good as a civilian. He could probably save the world from the safety of a lab somewhere. Jack wonders if he should have told DXS and Thornton they could have him but not Mac. Bundled Mac off to safety, security and a normal life.

There was selfishness in Jack's decision. He wasn't always sure he wanted to keep doing the job either. He'd been ready to retire from this life back in August. Go home and let someone else worry about bombs and terrorists. Let someone else worry about saving the world or die trying.

Until he met Mac.

That's what's different this time. Let the world burn, all he needs to do, all he cares about, is saving Mac. Save him from those who would take advantage of his light and his brain. Save him from himself, when he thinks he should be able to save the world singlehandedly , armed with only a paperclip and his knife.

"First of all, no one can do what you do. No one. So you get that idea that out of your head. If you can't do it, it can't be done ."

Mac squares his shoulder at the words.

Watching the words sink in, Jack rubs his forehead. This conversation is the most dangerous field of landmines he's ever crossed. " Just because no one else can do it, doesn't mean you have to."

"Thornton says I owe it to the world to work for DXS."

"Thornton's a legend, but she's got her own agenda that I haven't quite figured out yet," Jack countered. "Lots of ways to save the world, Mac. Go to NASA, back to MIT, go be a middle school science teacher, what was that guy's name, the teacher who helped make you into the egghead you are?"

"Mr. Ericson," Mac replies slowly.

"Yeah, well if you can teach a dumb hick like me the periodic table in the middle of a war zone, imagine what you could do in an actual classroom. Raise up an army of little Mac brains. Maybe literally. Meet a nice girl, settle down, have some blond babies. Nicki, who I was telling you about, is blonde too."

A blush creeps up Mac's neck. "Can I meet her before you start naming our kids?"

Jack smiles, his distraction technique works outside of the desert too. "I'm just saying, lots of ways for you to save the world, Mac. You ain't gonna be wasting your brains if you decide that DXS isn't the right fit for you."

Mac smiles, then his face clouds again. "What about our deal? I can't imagine getting the Army to cut us loose was an easy feat. I still had over a year left-"

Jack waves off the concern. "If you decide this isn't for you, we'll take care of it." He leans forward so he's looking Mac in the eye."If Patty needs a few favors to keep things square, I'll handle it."

If the kid wants out, he'll do whatever he needs to. Thornton knows his past, knows what he's capable of. Even if DXS isn't interested in some of his more particular skill sets, that he's tried very hard to bury in his past, his reputation among the other alphabet agencies precedes him and he knows he'd be worth some valuable favors to Thornton if he was loaned out .

He'd hoped that part of his life was over, but it doesn't really matter, Jack realizes. Because not only is he willing to die for Mac, he's more than willing to kill for him too.

This relationship suddenly became more dangerous.

* * *

Cargo planes aren't the worst way to travel.

They're not a favorite, but Jack would take them over some of the more unorthodox vehicles he's traversed the world in.

This one is packed too full though. His knees are practically behind his head. It's going to be a long couple of hours. He's slept in worse positions too though. He could probably sleep most of the flight back. His early morning heart to heart with Mac took its toll. The mission itself not one of the more difficult ones, not till the end. It'll still be the subject of a lot of sleepless nights.

He might have to start drinking coffee again.

He hasn't even adjusted to a sleep schedule outside the Army yet.

Jack always has trouble sleeping the first few weeks after getting home from a tour. This last one was a bad one. He hasn't made it through a night without a scream on his lips. This time around, he doesn't remember most of the dreams when he jerks awake. Vague feelings, impressions. Scorching sun. Cracked lips. Blistering sand. An intense sense of loss.

His shoulders jostle again, not from turbulence.

"Quit squirmin'," Jack grouses, eyes closed, head leaning back against the seat.

The movement beside him instantly stills. Jack cracks an eyelid and gives his partner a quick once over. "You okay, kid?" The kid's been shifting and fidgeting in his seat since take off. More than just the restless energy that usually plagues him. Handing him a paperclip or something to keep his hands busy while his brain chews a problem hasn't been enough this time.

"Sorry," Mac apologizes, curling in like he's trying to take up less room on the seat.

"Height?" Jack guesses.

"Heights don't really bother me if I'm in a plane," Mac shakes his head. "And I'm not afraid of flying, unless you're the one piloting the helicopter."

Jack ignores the dig, but smiles to himself. "You're not usually this antsy. I mean, you're usually like a colt on the first day of spring, but this is fidgety even for you."

Mac smirks at being compared to yet another barnyard animal. "Just can't get comfortable." He shifts in his seat again with a grimace.

"Did you tie your brain up in knots worrying about stuff again?"

Mac smiles sheepishly. " I think you managed to untangle me this morning."

"Getting pretty fluent in Mac-speak," Jack grins.

Mac rolls his eyes to hide the smile creeping across his face.

But Jack's smile fades slowly as he watches Mac run a hand across his belly. Jack rustles through his go bag before holding out a protein bar to his partner, hoping to distract him for a while.

Mac frowns, considering for a moment, before shaking his head. "Not really hungry."

Jack raises an eyebrow, trying to remember their dash to the airfield this morning. "You didn't eat anything before we left."

Mac shrugs.

"You feeling alright?" Jack resists the urge to put his hand on Mac's face like his mother would have done to him if she thought he was feeling poorly. He and Mac might be getting closer all the time, but he thinks the kid might balk at that action.

"Sometimes flying doesn't agree with me."

"You didn't eat any of those worms did ya?" Jack asks. "Montezuma's revenge?"

"We weren't in Mexico."

"Then, whatever they call the equivalent in Jakarta?"

Mac shakes his head. " I think it's just residual stress over the mission. Not sleeping last night didn't help."

"You'd tell me if you thought it was anything I needed to be worried about?"

"Of course," Mac promises.

Jack studies him suspiciously for a moment, as if he doesn't quite believe the promise. He doesn't have a reason not to believe it.

* * *

Mac sits ramrod straight in his chair. What's the point of comfortable furniture in the war room if the kid isn't going to relax into it. Sink into the plush leather and just lounge after a rough mission.

You can take the boy out of the army, Jack muses, half surprised that Mac accepted the chair and isn't standing at attention in the middle of the room.

Patty's not even looking at them, staring instead at the after action reports in her hand.

Jack slouches harder, perched on the armrest of Mac's chair and commandeering most of the seatback as well since Mac's not using it. Trying to get Mac to relax by his almost insubordinate posture. It doesn't work though, if anything Mac sits up straighter to make up for Jack.

Maybe it'll keep Patty's attention on him rather than Mac. He's a little flushed. Restless. Squirmed the whole flight home. Even now, he can feels the slight tremor of taunt muscles as Mac tries to refrain from letting his fingers worry the cuffs of his shirt.

Maybe he should call her Patty to her face. Keep her attention firmly on him. She hasn't really specified how she wants to be addressed.

Maybe he should wait until they've at least been with DXS a month. No sense in rocking the boat too early. Keep Patty a little on edge too as they figure out this new working relationship. He's half surprised she recruited him. For better or worse, she's very familiar with his work.

"Your report is very thorough, MacGyver," she says, and she sets the tablet down gently.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Jack quirks an eyebrow and leans forward trying to get a glance of Mac's expression... _ma'am?_ The kid really is a boy scout.

"Dalton, colorful as always."

"Thank you, ma'am," he tries to copy Mac's respectful tone, but it doesn't sound quite genuine.

"That wasn't a compliment."

A surprised snort escapes Mac, and Patty almost smiles.

She turns serious again. "Unfortunately, since this was a joint operation with the CIA, and your first mission with DXS, there are going to be more questions . Especially since you two made it home, unscathed, and two seasoned CIA agents did not."

Mac's breath hitches. His fingers find a loose thread. He's going to worry the button right off. Jack wishes there was a big bowl of paperclips he could shove into Mac's lap.

"It was Waller's op," Jack says, frustration coloring his tone. There's a reason they chose the offer from DXS rather than the CIA. Jack knows only too well that the agency is always looking for a scapegoat for a mission gone bad. And Mac is already feeling guilty. The CIA will be only too willing to pin this on the kid, a brand new agent with an overworked sense of guilt. Mac might just let them. "We were brought in on this late and left in the dark for a lot of it. And his actions during the interrogation of the prisoner were out of line. If the CIA is going to try to pin this on us-"

"I'm just warning you how this is going to go," Thornton interrupts, but Jack doesn't stop long enough to let her finish her explanation.

"You're going to let them come in and walk all over us?" Jack sputters; standing up and starting to pace.

Mac's hands clench tightly in his lap. Jack tries to release the tension in his shoulders. He's stressing out the kid even more.

"In the name of inter-agency cooperation, we will have a joint debrief tomorrow morning."

"Throwing us to the wolves?"

Thornton raises an eyebrow. "The CIA isn't known for playing fair."

Jack growls.

Thornton sits down in the seat across from Mac, crossing one leg over the other, and folding her arms. A small smirk on her face. "But when have you known me to play fair either?"

Mac glances between Thornton and Jack.

Jack stops his pacing, staring at Thornton, trying to read her. Thornton was CIA, and a dozen other black book organizations before taking on the role of director of field operations for DXS. He's heard the rumors.

"This is my agency. You are my agents." Her eyes lock on his.

There's the story, a legend, that a rogue agent tried to assassinate her while she was in her office working on after action reports . She drove a pencil through his eye, killing him, then pulled the pencil out to finish her report. She never even left her chair.

This move by the CIA didn't blindside her. She's been prepared for it all along.

Jack grinds his teeth. "Alright, I trust you, boss lady."

"Go home, get some rest. I'll see you both tomorrow morning." Thornton dismisses them.

Jack slaps Mac on the shoulder and heads for the door.

Mac glances at Thornton again, but she's already engrossed in another mission report on her tablet. Mac follows Jack out of the room, pausing at the door to look back once more, not sure of exactly what he just witnessed.

"Shake a leg, slick," Jack calls from halfway down the hall. Mac hurries after him.

"What was that?" Mac gestures back to the war room.

"That was us getting a better feel for our boss. This DXS thing might work out after all."

"And the joint debrief?"

"CIA getting their panties in a bunch. Patty's got an ace up her sleeve." Jack claps him on the shoulder again. "I don't know about you, partner, but I could use a shower, a nap, and some food. Not in that order, food comes first."

"I think the shower should probably come first," Mac counters, sniffing the collar of his own sweat stiff t-shirt.

"Breakfast's the most important part of the day. Thought someone as smart as you would know that."

"I don't think your definition of breakfast makes it the most important meal."

"What are you talking about? After a mission like this one the only thing that matters is feeling like you're alive. The best breakfast for that is greasy potatoes, eggs, piping hot coffee, sizzling bacon."

"The mission didn't kill you, so your breakfast will?"

A dull thud of pain echoes through his hollow abdomen. He hasn't eaten in the last day. But it's not hunger pains. The idea of putting anything in his stomach, especially the breakfast Jack is describing has that ache increasing and nausea churning.

"I think my priority is going to bed," Mac says hoping he can sleep off whatever bug he picked up. He can't really chalk it up to airsickness anymore. Maybe it's still some nerves and residual anxiety, but he's caved and started calling it a bug, at least to himself.

Jack doesn't hide the disappointed look. It's almost enough to make Mac change his mind, but he knows even the smell of greasy diner food will have him running for the nearest garbage can.

Jack's eyes scan him, trying to determine if Mac is truly just as exhausted as he claims, or if he's running off to get lost in his head.

"You want some company?"

Mac raises a bemused eyebrow. "To go to bed?" He laughs as Jack sputters. "Nah, the mattress for the guest room won't be delivered until Saturday. And I'm not listening to you complain for the next week about how the futon messed up your back."

"Bring it along to the debrief tomorrow. The CIA can use it for their enhanced interrogation tactics."

Worry crosses Mac's face again. Jack mentally kicks himself. The kid was finally relaxing and Jack sent his anxiety into overdrive again reminding him of the impending interrogation.

"It's a formality more than anything," Jack reassures. "They aren't going to break out the drugs or sleep deprivation, or chain us up in a room."

"If I don't get home right now, they won't have to use their own sleep deprivation tactics," Mac says, stifling a yawn.

"You good to drive?"

Mac waves away the concern.

"I'll pick you up, first thing in the morning. We'll get donuts."

Reluctantly , Mac agrees, hoping that he'll feel better in the morning. At least enough to choke down a donut before facing the debrief.


	2. Chapter 2

The house is empty and Mac is grateful. He's not feeling up to lying about his think tank work trip to Chicago, trying to remember the cover story they worked out in case Bozer was curious about the conference he attended in the Windy City. Lying to Bozer is going to be an interesting challenge. Bozer knows his tells, has been calling Mac out on his half-truths since they were kids.

He hasn't been able to be totally truthful about his actions in the past few years, but Bozer knew he was in the Army. Understood that there were things Mac couldn't talk about, and didn't press the issue. Now he's going to get some intensive cover story immersion training. He hopes that Bozer isn't going to press today though. He doesn't feel up to spinning a tale of adventures in Chicago.

Mac drops his bag next to the counter in the kitchen. His hands grip the formica as he rides out another wave of twisting, cramping pain. The nausea follows a moment later. He contemplates a ginger ale, and decides against it.

He should go to bed. Try to sleep off the mission. He's never able to sleep during the day, and the idea of walking down the hall to his bedroom seems like a task too difficult to handle right now.

Bed means real sleep. Sleep means nightmares, even on good days. This isn't a good day.

It's a controlled tumble onto the couch, and since no one is around, he allows a gasp of pain. Laying quietly for a moment, he tries to regain control over his body. Then pulls the blanket draped over the back of the couch across shivering shoulders.

The shivering is a new and unwelcome development.

Sunlight floods the room, piercing his closed eyelids. Jack told him to get some blackout curtains but he hasn't gotten around to it yet. He's barely gotten his stuff out of storage since he's been home.

He turns to face the back of the couch, trying to block out the light. Ignoring the pulsing ache behind his navel. He pulls the blanket more securely across his shoulders. Even if he can't fall asleep, he can hopefully close his eyes and rest.

_"What's that?" Griggs asks sitting down at the table across from him._

_Mac looks up at the other agent warily . "Swiss army knife." He holds it up for a second to allow a quick look before palming it, preparing for ridicule. It's been the same for the last three years. MacGyver and his knife, a joke with other EOD techs and their overwatches, other men in the barracks. Even some of his COs give him a hard time about it._

_Usually, they backed off when they saw what he could do with it._

_"I always wanted one of those as a kid," Griggs says. "My mom thought I'd slice my fingers off though."_

_Mac nods, still waiting for the teasing to start. "My granddad gave it to me when I was ten. We went through a lot of bandaids those first couple of weeks."_

_"Heard it's still your weapon of choice."_

_Mac sighs, now the teasing begins. He'd hoped Griggs would be different. The other man had defended Mac from Hadley's condescending comments, and Mac let his guard down. He hadn't imagined Griggs would be that ruthless, winning over his trust to use it against him. The man is a CIA interrogator though. Using people's weaknesses against them is his job._

_"You really don't use a gun?" Griggs asks. "How does your partner feel about that?"_

_Mac's been wondering and worrying about that particular question ever since they started this new gig. It was one thing in the Army, when Mac was disarming bombs and Jack was his Overwatch. It's another thing in the field, just the two of them. He'd never forgive himself if something happened to Jack that he could have prevented._

_Jack keeps saying that the best weapon he could have watching his back is between Mac's ears. Mac just hopes it's enough._

_"If I had your skill set, I wouldn't use a gun either," Griggs confesses. "I guess it's a good thing if you never get over taking a life."_

_"Are you out in the field much?" Mac asks. "I thought you guys were some sort of top interrogators?"_

_"Information Extraction. We go where we're sent," Griggs explains. "We both prefer the field over some black site. It feels, I don't know, more fair. Less torture." _

_Mac nods, digesting the information. It's one of his... concerns about his recent career change. Disarming bombs, it's easy to know he's on the right side, the good guys. Saving lives. _

_Covert operations is ambiguous. Morally gray at times. He and Jack spent numerous hours discussing the switch when the unique offers started rolling in. For being a black book operation, DXS was surprisingly transparent with them. It doesn't stop the niggling doubt in the back of his mind. _

_He realizes Griggs is still speaking, "And, don't tell him I told you, but we jumped at the chance to work with Dalton in the field. I couldn't believe it when I heard he was back. Thought he retired."_

_Mac schools his features. There is so much he still doesn't know about Jack, but hearing that he's something of a legend in certain circles, well, it makes sense, as much as it confuses him . He knows Jack's got a past. Knows that it's a dangerous one. Is very aware that a few months ago, all Jack wanted was to peacefully disappear. Doesn't understand why Jack stayed in Afghanistan. Definitely doesn't understand why he's stuck around now that they're home._

_"I guess there are some perks of being boy wonder," Griggs says. "And having Jack Dalton as a partner. I just hope he's enough."_

_Mac looks up in surprise at the words._

_"One gun to protect the both of you doesn't seem fair. Hope you don't get him killed like you did us..."_

_Mac can't protest the accusation. He's frozen in place, words stuck on a lump in his throat because what if Griggs speaks the truth. Hadley and Griggs had to provide cover because Mac was too slow. Jack could have backed them up and didn't. Because he didn't trust Mac to look after himself? Thought he'd get killed on his own?_

_That's what Jack said when he stayed back in Afghanistan. That Mac wouldn't last two days in the desert. _

_Mac knows that's true. Two days in the desert without Jack would kill him. _

_What it Jack's decision to stay costs him?_

_ After everything Jack's done for him, what if Mac gets him killed._

_"It'd be a shame, a legend like Dalton going out while protecting a bomb nerd," Griggs shakes his head. "What a waste. If only one of you lives, it should be him."_

* * *

He startles awake, not sure what rousted him from sleep, but grateful to wake from the dark turn his dream took. Surprised to find that he had been sleeping. The jolting action causes the dull pain in his abdomen to come for the forefront. He hisses out a slow breath and drives away the memories of his nightmare. He runs a shaky hand through his hair.

"It's just a dream," Mac whispers, running a shaky hand through his hair. But the doubt remains, crowding the words of encouragement that Jack spoke this morning.

The front door slams, and Mac jumps. More proof of his inexperience, and lack of field readiness.

"Hey, Mac!" Bozer calls out excitedly as he enters the house. "You home already?

"Oh, yeah, Boze, hey. The conference wrapped up early. We caught an earlier flight," Mac says, sitting up on the couch, trying to ignore the way the small movement sends his pulse racing and his stomach churning. He glances at the clock on the wall. He's been sleeping over almost three hours and he feels worse. Definitely a bug... probably.

"You could have spent an extra day in Chicago for fun and you came home early?"

Mac shrugs. "It's cold there."

"Wear a jacket," Bozer suggests. He squints at his roommate, noticing a flush on Mac's cheeks. "Oh, but you're getting sick."

"I'm fine," Mac begins, then sees the skeptical look on Bozer's face and shakes his head. "Maybe something I ate." Not bothering to add how long it's been since he last ate something. Actually, he's not really sure himself when that would have been.

"Was it the deep dish pizza?" Bozer asks sympathetically . "Lake Michigan is cool. The Skydeck, while admittedly not your thing, is pretty amazing, but Chicago style pizza is a crime. Too doughy. Can't even lift it like a real slice. You have to use a knife and fork. A knife and fork, Mac. For pizza. The midwest is a weird place."

"That's probably it," Mac agrees.

"And you never do well with anything too heavy on the garlic."

Bozer is so adamant that Mac is half convinced of the accuracy of his statements, until he remembers that he wasn't actually in Chicago, and this didn't feel anything like what Jack referred to as "the bubble guts ." The flush deepens on his face.

"You want some Tums? Ginger ale?"

Mac shakes his head, his mouth is dry but his stomach aches at the thought of putting something in it. "I think I should probably just sleep it off."

"Yeah, alright, man. You let me know if you need something though," Bozer tries to extract a promise from his roommate.

Mac turns back towards the couch and feels Bozer drape another blanket over his shoulders . He thinks he should probably say thank you, but somehow drifts off before the word makes it past his lips.

In the back of his mind, he can hear Bozer puttering around the house. It's one of the reasons he likes sleeping on the couch. The sounds of home keep his subconscious from filling his head with flashbacks and nightmares.

_"Told you that toy wouldn't be enough," Hadley glowers at Mac, ripping the knife from Mac's fingers._

_"It's not a toy," Mac defends, trying to grab it back. "I've disarmed IEDs with it for years."_

_Hadley chucks the knife away. It kicks up a puff of sand when it lands. He continues to stare at Mac, fire in his eyes. "Griggs said I should cut you a break. Wonder if he'd still say that knowing that you killed him?"_

_"I did my job. I disarmed the nukes."_

_"Not fast enough." Hadley leans into Mac's space. "The truth is going to come out at the inquest. You aren't cut out for this line of work. They should send you back to the Army. If you mess up there at least you'll only get yourself and Dalton killed."_

Mac wakes, crying out. While he slept the pain shifted from a dull ache mid abdomen to a piercing pain on his right side.

Lurching up from the couch. Stumbling through the now darkened living room. How long was he asleep? He headed to the bathroom but recognizes that he'll never make it. He manages to grab the trash can before his rebelling stomach empties itself. There's not much to come up. Bile burns his throat.

The muscles of his abdomen contracting forcefully, heaving, nothing to come up. He can't catch his breath around the spasms and he feels a panicking sensation. It feels like his insides are trying to force their way out through his throat, and he can't catch his breath.

Finally, the retching slows and he slowly stands. Not straight. That hurts too much. He accepts a glass of water from Bozer, rinsing his mouth, but not swallowing. He probably shouldn't put anything in his stomach.

"Hey Mac," Bozer says as his friend sinks into a stool at the peninsula counter, hands curled protectively around his stomach. He knows Mac isn't going to like what he has to suggest. "I'm not sure this is just something you ate. You've been sleeping all day and you look worse."

Mac shrugs. He's thinking the same thing.

"I really think you need to see a doctor," Bozer spits the words out quickly, as if he can say them fast enough the meaning will sneak past Mac and he won't argue.

Mac raises his head, misery written across his face. "Okay," he mumbles. He was about to suggest it himself.

Bozer freezes, half ready to continue arguing futilely. Not at all prepared for Mac to give in, and it worries him. " Really ?"

Slowly Mac nods. "Something's not right."

"Yeah, okay. You want me to call Jack?" Bozer asks, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He can remember, to Mac's embarrassment, Harry lamenting the fights that ensued trying to take Mac in for a check-up . Not to mention the time he broke his arm or dealing with the burns and concussions after the incident. The idea of Mac voluntarily agreeing to see a doctor stops him cold. Calling Jack for back up doesn't seem like a bad idea. Having Jack around these last couple of weeks has been like having a secret weapon in getting Mac to do things he doesn't want to, but really should do.

Mac shakes his head, declining the suggestion. "It was a long week. He wanted to sleep just as much as I did."

"You sure?"

"There's nothing he can do either way." He doesn't need Jack to come hold his hand. Doesn't need Jack to see his weakness. More of his weakness. That he can't last a few hours on his own without Jack having to swoop in and fix things.

Mac sits at the counter, wrapped in a blanket, watching with hooded eyes as Bozer scrambles around the house, putting together a few things they might need. He's pretty sure Mac's going to win himself an overnight stay. He has his own suspicions of what's going on. And he's pretty sure Mac's thinking the same thing.

The hospital is busy tonight. The triage waiting room is full. Bozer manages to maneuver them to a pair of chairs far away from anyone who looks particularly contagious. Mac looks pretty bad himself, beads of perspiration on his forehead, shivering despite the heat. Curling into himself in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Other occupants of the room are giving them wide berth.

Bozer taps his fingers nervously on the armrest.

Mac watches the movement hypnotically. Letting the rhythmic motion distract him, calm him. It's probably a bad thing that he's called back before the guy making a show moaning and groaning in pain. You never want to be rushed back in a busy ER.

Mac sits on the gurney, quietly explaining his symptoms, as the nurse wraps a blood pressure cuff snugly around his arm. Bozer interjects with his own observations from the last few hours.

"You've got a pretty significant fever, so something is going on," the nurse informs him. Mac nods. Between that and his racing heart, it's starting to make sense why he's feeling so awful.

She deftly starts an IV and fills colorfully capped vials with blood for testing.

She hands him an unmistakable plastic wrapped cup. "Think you can give me one more sample? So we can start to rule out the source of your pain and fever."

Mac pauses, considering before reaching out and accepting the cup, and the dreaded pale green one-size-fits-no-one hospital gown.

He's settling back onto the gurney, a few minutes later after handing off the sample to the nurse. Pulling the gown down to cover his knees and snagging the folded blanket at the end of the bed to ward off the shivers when the doctor walks in, and Mac is reviewing his symptoms all over again.

"When did your pain start?" The doctor presses his stethoscope to Mac's abdomen.

Mac tries not to wriggle in discomfort at the sensation. "A couple of days ago, maybe. It wasn't really pain then, just intermittently uncomfortable."

"And has it changed since then."

Mac grimaces. "It's pretty constant now, and a lot sharper. Mostly on the lower right," Mac gestures towards the area.

"Nausea?"

Mac nods miserably. "I threw up before we came."

"Any recent travel?"

"Ah," Mac pauses, glancing quickly at Bozer. He should have called Jack. Or just brought himself in. Or told Bozer to stay in the waiting room when they brought him back. While he's pretty sure this isn't some sort of gastroenteritis he picked up in Jakarta, he doesn't think he should lie to the doctor, just in case. He's not going to be able to explain how he went to Chicago by way of Jakarta.

A particularly painful spasm tears through him and he's saved from answering for a moment by trying to remember how to breathe .

"He was just in Chicago," he hears Bozer answering for him as the pain finally begins to subside. "And he got back, like a month ago, from Afghanistan. He was in ordinance disposal in the Army," Bozer proclaims proudly.

"Thank you for your service," the doctor says to Mac and Bozer practically cackles. It's become a running joke between them. Nearly everyone responds the same way when they hear about Mac's military career, and Bozer's keeping a running tally. He's at thirty-seven.

Mac uses that as an opening. "I was in Jakarta too." He shrugs when he feels Bozer's eyes questioning him. "Need to know, Boze," he says apologetically.

Bozer nods his understanding. There's a lot that Mac did in the Army that he'll never know about, even if it would make a great background for one of his movies. But the nightmares he's watched Mac suffer through, Bozer won't press Mac to relieve those moments. Not until he's ready. And he won't use Mac's trauma as fodder for a script.

"Let's have you lie back so I can take a look," the doctor says, help Mac into a reclining position. It takes everything in him not to immediately curl up against the pain. The doctor pushes aside the hospital gown. "I'm going to press on your abdomen," he warns.

Mac nods biting his lip, holding his breath, waiting for what he's sure is going to be excruciating pain. The doctor's hands are cool against his flushed skin. Mac releases almost a sigh of relief when the pain doesn't change with the palpating hands.

Until the hands pull away. Mac can't hold back a scream, immediately curling in on his right side.

Bozer's hand grips his shoulder.

"We'll get a CT scan to confirm, but between the rebound pain and your fever, I think we're looking at appendicitis."

The diagnosis isn't really a surprise. The thought crossed his mind several times in the last few hours. Not that Mac would admit that out loud. Bozer would be pissed that Mac waited so long. He might even ignore Mac's ban on calling Jack.

"It's got to come out. Tonight." The doctor leaves to consult the surgeon on call, while Mac waits to be collected for the CT scan. He doesn't know how he's going to lay still long enough for the imaging because the pain is excruciating. He can't stop the tears filling his eyes.

"You think maybe I should give Jack a call now? Just to let him know what's going on?"

Mac would really like to talk to Jack. Maybe even see him before he goes in for surgery. He's come to rely a lot on the older man in the last few months. It would be reassuring to have him nearby. But Mac can't be selfish. His partner needs his sleep. It's not like Jack can really do anything. He would probably insist on staying the night. Sit around in a waiting room in uncomfortable chairs, drinking weak coffee. Jack barely tolerates coffee anyway.

Mac's a grown man, he doesn't need his partner here holding his hand.

"I'll tell him in the morning," Mac says finally. The morning.

The debrief.

Bozer mistakes the widening of his eyes for pain, or maybe nausea. "You want me to see if they can give you something?"

"No, I'm good."

It's a whirlwind after that. The CT scan over quickly, and Mac returns to his curtain cordoned area to be scrubbed down with chlorohexidine, and hooked up to a bag of fluids . Consent forms signed. Bozer gives him a quick hug and claps him on the shoulder before they wheel him into the frigid surgical suite.

Between the pain, the medication rushing through his veins and the bright light in his eyes, it's difficult to track the bustle of movement around him.

He's going to close his eyes. Just for a second.

"_I had to pull a lot of strings to get you, MacGyver, but Dalton assured me that you'd be worth the effort." Thornton pulls a surgical mask down from her face._

_"Director Thornton," Mac says in surprise. Jack has told him stories of the legend of Patricia Thornton but to see her showing up now, in surgery shocks him. Her reach extends even beyond what he's imagined._

_"So tell me, what does Jack see in you that makes you worth the effort? That makes you worth the risk? I have yet to see what inspired this blind faith from an agent like Dalton."_

_Mac's pulse races. Jack's faith in him is too much. He made promises Mac can't deliver on._

_"Because you're one mission in and you go and get two CIA agents killed. How do I explain this? You can possibly imagine that Jack and I are going to be willing to keep cleaning up your messes."_

_"I- I didn't think-"_

_"You didn't think? That's one of the virtues Jack extolled, MacGyver is always thinking. Always comes up with a plan."_

_Mac runs a hand through his hair. She hasn't said anything worse than what Mac's been thinking the last few days, the last few weeks since he accepted DXS' offer . This is probably what Jack's been thinking all along. Wondering how he got saddled with a mess like Mac._

_"And now this. I get one messy mission from you and then what? A medical leave? You aren't inspiring confidence, MacGyver. Nothing has shown that you are worth the favors I called in to get you for my team."_

_"No, I'll be fine. I won't need any leave," Mac assures._

_Thornton raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "I can't risk Dalton if you aren't up to par."_

_Worry crosses Mac's face. "They, uh, they said it would be laparoscopically. Instead of a long incision, it's a few small ones. Tiny. Healing time is reduced. I can come back right away."_

_"I hope for both your sake's that you're right, MacGyver. I don't want to have to send you back to the Army. Jack especially. He was supposed to retire a few months ago, wasn't he? He stuck around for you. I hope you don't screw this deal up for him."_

_"I won't," Mac promises. "Even if you don't want me, don't send Jack back. He's worth more to DXS. He's wasted in the Army."_

_Thornton huffs a mirthless laugh. "That's what he said about you. That's why he bargained so hard to get you out of there. I have yet to see evidence of what you can do yet." Thornton leans in forward. "I just hope you don't get him killed."_

_Mac tries to protest but instead chokes and coughs. He can't get the words out._

_"Mr. MacGyver," Thornton's voice echoes._

"Mr. MacGyver, try to relax. Take some deep breaths."


	3. Chapter 3

The sun is starting to peak over the horizon and into his third floor window. Mac slowly opens his eyes and blearily looks towards the clock. It's just before six. About two hours since he was last woken. He let his head fall back exhaustedly against the pillow and his eye slip shut again.

Post-procedure vital signs are a awful. He remembers vaguely the nurse explaining the timing; how often they would be checking his blood pressure when he got to the room late last night, but it seemed like the BP cuff they left wrapped around his arm for half the night inflated about every three minutes. Combine that with the IV in his antecubital vein, in the crook of his elbow connected to a pump that released a high pitched wail, claiming the line was "occluded" every time he tried to curl up into his preferred sleeping position. And the continuous pulse ox probe on his finger, which he kept accidentally pulling off every time he moved. It was a rough night for him and the night shift crew.

He finally stopped apologizing every time they came in to turn off beeping alarms.

A squeaky cart wheels down the hallway, and he can faintly hear an IV pump squawking from somewhere across the unit.

A hospital, the place where you probably need the most rest, is the place you keep getting woken up, his nurse joked with him during one of her mid night rounds, when she finally released him from the blood pressure cuff. One less piece of equipment that he's tethered to.

There is a quiet tap on his door and he's tempted to just hold out his arm for whatever vital signs check they want and keep his eyes closed.

"Mac, it's Dr. Janessa," a woman's voice says coming closer.

He looks up, slightly surprised to see his surgeon here already this morning, but feeling hopeful that she's here this early to get him discharged. He mentioned, several times yesterday, wanting to go home as soon as possible.

"How are you feeling?"

Mac pushes up slightly in the bed, trying not to wince at the pain the motion causes. "Better."

She smiles. "I'm not surprised. Your appendix was a mess. It hadn't burst, but it started coming apart when I touched it. Pretty gross."

Mac pulls a face at her words, a little surprised by her candor.

"How's your pain?"

"I don't really have any," Mac says after a pause. "A little when I move, but nothing like before."

"Well, based on what I saw, you've probably got a pretty high pain tolerance if you didn't come in until last night. And I don't think the anesthesia is completely out of your system yet. Can I take a look at the incisions?"

Mac carefully pulls the hospital gown loose, adjusting the sheets to keep them tucked around his hips. Five bandaids across his abdomen. Five small incisions, just like he was promised.

"Like we talked about pre-op we were able to do the surgery laparoscopically. So, no four inch long incision. Less pain and improved healing time. The bandaids can come off later today and the steristrips underneath will fall off on their own." She palpates his stomach. Mac braces, this time for when she pulls her hands away. He learned his lesson yesterday, but pleased that the pain doesn't increase. Just mildly sore muscles.

"So, can I go home?"

She hedges. "You did have a low grade fever overnight. I'd like to keep an eye on that, and see you eat something first. Walk around the unit a few times. I'll round again this afternoon and we can talk about it more then."

Mac protests, "there's a meeting at work I really can't miss."

"Oh absolutely not. I'll write you a note. I don't want you going back to work for at least a week. And no strenuous activity, no lifting anything heavier than a jug of milk for two weeks."

Mac protests. Remembering the nightmares sends his mind is racing. He need to prove his worth, earn his keep. He's already the weak link in the DXS chain. So far his career as a government agent hasn't been impressive.

"You just had surgery. You're going to need some time to recover. Your boss will understand."

Mac doesn't share her optimism.

"Do you have any questions for me right now?"

Mac shakes his head, disappointment written on his face.

"We'll get you out of here as soon as we safely can. And the weather's supposed to be beautiful all next week. Take some time off to enjoy it," she says as she heads for the door, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

Failing his first mission, and missing his first debrief isn't going to inspire confidence. Thornton and Jack will have to cover for him. Just another example of how he doesn't belong. Doesn't have the skills to keep up in a covert ops organization. The CIA might think he has something to hide when he doesn't show up.

Jack's told him stories about how he's been shot in the morning and back in the field by lunch. Shot. A little laparoscopic appendectomy isn't anything compared to that.

He peels back the clear tegaderm dressing that protects the IV and slides the cannula out of his forearm.

He can't remember exactly what he dreamed while under anesthesia, but the residual anxiety it left behind is stronger than any fear of pain keeping him from moving around.

There's dread in the back of his mind that had been mostly relieved after their initial debrief yesterday. Jack defended their actions. Thornton told them the debrief was more of a formality

What if after listening to Waller's reports Thornton decides to cut him loose? What if she decides he's a liability? Does he have to go back to the Army? Back to disarming bombs in the desert?

Jack said they were a package deal. If Mac messes up, does he mess this deal up for Jack too?

Mac doesn't know which would be worse, if his screw up made them send Jack back to Afghanistan with him. Or if he had to go back alone.

It would only be fair to make him go alone. Jack is a more valuable asset. He's already got the skills needed to be a government agent. He's wasted in the desert looking after one bomb nerd.

But Mac doesn't know if he'd survive going back alone.

He finds a plastic bag of his belongings in the closet and carefully dresses, wincing as he pulls his t-shirt over his head.

He needs to get to DXS.

Not for his own sake, but for Jack's.

* * *

"Where have you been?"

Jack's loud drawl from behind him causes Mac to freeze in his steps. He turns around, trying to keep the deer in headlights look out of his eyes.

He stammers.

"Thought I was supposed to be picking you up for donuts this morning?"

Right, with everything that happened in the last few hours he'd completely forgotten about Jack's plan to ease his nerves and make sure he ate.

"Went by the house and it was empty."

Mac breathes a silent sigh of relief that Jack didn't run into Bozer this morning. Hasn't heard about his extemporary appendectomy.

"You weren't answering your phone, which is kind of a huge no-no. Lucky it was just me and not Patty trying to get a hold of you."

Mac pats his pockets, finding his cell phone and sees that it's dead. "Guess I forgot to charge it yesterday when we got back."

"Okay, well, don't do that again, because you had me worried." Jack mildly scolds. "Still doesn't explain where you've been."

He really should just tell Jack what happened, and he is planning to do just that. Tell Jack everything. That Bozer took him to the hospital, and he had his appendix taken out last night. He might even confess to sneaking out of the hospital this morning, which admittedly now that he's been moving around more, and the residual pain meds are wearing off was probably a monumentally stupid idea.

Jack is studying him, eyes narrowing suspiciously, as if he can tell Mac is hiding something. It causes a momentary panic to flood through Mac. The idea of Jack seeing his weakness. Of recognizing it and knowing him well enough to comment on it. Only Bozer has ever known him that well. The vulnerability of someone else being able to read him, and know what he's thinking, feeling, leaves him feeling shaky. Or maybe that's still the anesthesia.

Jack's staring at him. A puzzled, concerned look on his face.

Mac opens his mouth.

But he's saved by the bell as Jack's phone buzzes. Jack glances down at the screen, then holds it up for Mac to see. "Why's Bozer calling me? Didn't say goodbye before you left this morning?"

Mac knows he's about to get busted. Either Bozer is calling Jack just to keep him updated on what's going on with Mac. Because Mac is sure that Jack gets regular reports from Bozer on his sleeping and eating habit and if nightmares left him yelling.

Or the more likely scenario, Bozer arrived at the hospital bright and early and is sounding the alarm on Mac's escape.

He has a feeling the impending explosion is going to be spectacular, and he should definitely confess before Jack answers the phone.

But the door to the War Room opens and Thornton steps out. "Sometime today gentlemen."

Jack declines the call.

A momentary reprieve.

* * *

There are two suits that Jack doesn't recognize in the conference room when they enter behind Thornton. Jack leans over to whisper instructions in Mac's ear. "Follow my lead. They're gonna try to get your goat. That's how they operate. Don't let 'em."

Mac almost snorts at Jack's colloquialism. It's not one he's heard often in California, but Texas rancher Dalton loves his animal references.

The door opens again and Waller strides in, ignoring both Mac and Jack.

Jack glares at him anyway. He has half a suspicion that Waller is responsible for this debrief, trying to blame his negligence and incompetence on them.

"Now that we're all assembled, please, take a seat so we can get started," the female suit, calls the meeting to order. Jack settles in right next to Mac, with Patty on the kid's other side. Jack feels a bit like they're circling the wagons.

Folders containing after action reports are passed around the table so each person receives their own copy. Then female suit turns on the recorder in the middle of the table. "This is Standard's Supervisor Sondra Connolley, CIA"

"Peter Waller, Field Operations Leader, CIA"

"Timothy Vang, Operations Supervisor, CIA."

Around the table it goes, the DXS agents identifying themselves next.

After introductions, Connolley reminded them that this was an informal inquiry then asked each agent involved to briefly recap the mission.

Mac exchanges a look with Jack. Waller's account is exceptionally brief, and increasingly hostile towards them. Jack gives an imperceptible nod of encouragement to his young partner.

"Following confirmation of the HQ-16 missile system, both Agent MacGyver and I noted a shooter enter the seating area. I called out a warning and the suspect began firing a moment later. I immediately returned fire, killing the suspect."

"And losing any information he could have offered us in the process," Vang says. "Did you have confirmation that the man had a gun?"

Jack scowls. "He started firing about half a second after I yelled, so I think that's your confirmation, right there."

"But, did you see the gun prior to your warning?" Vang presses, leaning forward.

"I could tell the man had a weapon. Which he fired before I returned fire."

"And in doing so, allowed Samrozi the opportunity to escape during the confusion." Vang states.

"Agents Griggs and Hadley pursued Samrozi but were unsuccessful in apprehending him. Agent MacGyver followed and captured Samrozi's associate Yovan."

Connolley speaks up now. "Agent MacGyver, how long have you been partnered with Agent Dalton?"

Mac blinked at the sudden change in the line of inquiry. "Since June of 2011."

"So about nine months?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"But not with DXS."

"No, that was in the Army," Mac answers.

Jack watches Mac steadily as he answers the questions directed at him. There's faint sheen on his forehead. Jack really wishes he could have prepped Mac better for this. It's sure starting to feel less like a friendly informal debrief and more like an inquisition.

"Samrozi was a former contact of yours when you worked East Asia?" Connolley turns her attention back toward Jack.

Mac shifts uncomfortably in his seat, leaning heavily on the armrest of his chair.

Jack watches out of the corner of his eye, while directing his answers towards the suits across the table. "That's correct. It's why we were tapped for this mission."

"That's interesting," Connolley says mildly.

Jack shrugs, looking nonchalant. They're purposefully baiting him, changing the line of questioning to keep them off balance. Bounce back and forth between him and Mac.

"Agent Dalton, tell us about the interview with the suspect." Vang instructs.

Jack frowns. "Agent MacGyver and I were not involved with the initial interviews with Yovan."

"And neither of you are trained in information retrieval."

Jack's jaw clenches. "Not formally, no."

"Yet you were present during the interrogation?"

"Parts of it. Griggs and Hadley were information retrieval. Agent MacGyver and I were waiting for the intel the interrogation would yield so we could disarm the missiles."

Vang nods like he's digesting the information, like he's not about to change the line of questioning. "And at what point did you threaten Field Operations Leader Waller?"

Waller leans forward smirking at the question. Jack feels his blood pressure rising, his suspicions confirmed. He purposefully ignores the Waller's taunting gaze. A heavy frown creased Jack's face. Clenching and releasing his jaw as he considers the question. "Waller was out of line." He directs his answer towards the suits.

"He outranked you. His operation and yet you became aggressive with him."

"He was threatening to kill our only lead.

"A terrorist,"

"The only person who knew where Samrozi was," Jack counters.

"Debatable."

"Excuse me?" Jack seethes at the implied treason.

Vang looks down at the reports again. "You were a confidante of Samrozi at one point, perhaps you felt an obligation to that friendship?"

Jack snorts. "Friendship? Is anyone allowed to spout wild accusations here, or is that a CIA special?"

"That question was out of line, Supervisor Vang," Connolley steps in.

"Acknowledged," Vang replies.

"Oh, yeah, acknowledged," Jack snarks leaning back in his chair, arms folded tightly across his chest. Trying to rein in his anger.

"But, returning to the topic, isn't it possible to think that perhaps Agent Waller was using his enhanced interrogation training to break the suspect and get him to reveal Samrozi's location?" Vang slyly asks.

"He crossed a line." Jack says, matter-of-factly.

"That wasn't your call to make. When he told you to stand down you responded with," a rustling of paper and Vang makes a show of looking for the statement in the file in front of him. "'You can file it under, Jack don't care.'"

"Something like that."

"Comms were live at the time, we can play it back if you'd like."

"That's not necessary," Jack protests, but his own voice is already coming through the speakers of the room.

_"No. This is over. You hear me? It's over!"_

_"Get your hands off of me."_

_"Stop it."_

_"I outrank you! That's an order. "_

_"You can file it under, Jack don't care."_

The room quiet as the audio fades.

"It seems like of the four agents on site, you were the only one who opposed Agent Waller's methods."

"That's not true," Mac interjected, ignoring Jack's glare to keep quiet. "Waller was out of line. Griggs, Hadley and I all attempted-"

Vang interrupts. "Agent Dalton is the only one on the tape."

"His voice carries," Mac argues.

Jack can't help the smile that crosses his face at Mac's defense. Still, he unobtrusively slides his hand to rest on Mac's forearm to keep him from protesting further. He knows the games the CIA plays, they're just trying to get a rise out of them right now.

He can feel Mac's arm trembling under his hand. He didn't realize how upsetting Mac would find this. He tries to catch Mac's gaze to offer some reassurances, noting the slight flush on Mac's face.

"Maybe he was the closest to the comms. Agent Waller is heard saying 'get your hands off of me.' That would imply Agent Dalton is very close, wouldn't you say."

Mac remains quiet, heeding Jack's unspoken warnings. But the CIA officers know they drew blood, and focus their attention on Mac again.

Vang slowly flips the pages of his debrief. "Agent MacGyver, this was your first operation with DXS, is that correct?"

Mac lets out a slow breath. "Yes.

"You decline to carry a gun, that is unusual."

"I prefer to use other non-lethal methods to incapacitate a suspect. As we discovered in this debrief, it's hard to get information from a dead suspect."

"Your partner carries a gun."

"Now, wait a minute," Jack interrupts.

Mac stops Jack's impending tirade with a cautious look. "Is that a question?"

"An observation."

Mac remains quiet. He's having trouble focusing on the words. He can't help but think his surgeon was right. Sitting up in the chair is exhausting. Relieving the mission is exhausting. And he's acutely aware that any reprieve he'd had this morning from pain was probably just residual from the anesthesia during surgery because he's definitely feeling it now.

He almost doesn't care about the rest of the meeting. All he wants to do is lay down somewhere and sleep. If the CIA decides to lock in him a black hole that's fine, as long as they leave Jack alone, and there's enough room for him to curl up against the pain and sleep.

He'll confess the surgery and his escape to Jack. Take the lecture he's sure will follow and let Jack fuss over him.

Jack and Bozer might tag-team lecture him if he ever gets home but even that doesn't sound so bad. Not if it means he gets to lay down during it.

"You have anything to add?" Vang asks, breaking his reverie.

"Were you looking for confirmation of your observation?" Mac's voice had the faintest edge to sarcasm. Jack can't help the smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. Only Mac could say something that snarky and sound like a boy scout.

Connolley raises an eyebrow at him. "Field agents, regardless of their affiliation, need to qualify with a service weapon."

"I said I don't carry one," condescension coloring his tone. "Never said I couldn't use one."

"Does that impact your working relationship with Agent Dalton?"

Mac swallows. "He does his part, I do mine," he forces out.

"And what if another agent needs assistance?"

"There were two of them, and two of us," Jack takes this question. "Are you so far removed from the field that you would consider leaving your partner, who is busy disarming multiple nuclear missiles, to fend for himself?"

"It's interesting that Agent Dalton and his partner are the agents that survived, especially considering his previous connection to Samrozi," Vang doesn't even attempt to veil his accusation.

"Is there a rest stop between here and the end of this witch hunt?" Jack asks, eyes boring into Thornton. She's sitting silently, observing the heated exchanges, that cool look on her face never once breaking.

"Something bothering your conscience, Dalton?" Its the first time Waller's spoken since his abbreviated mission recap.

"It is the word of a newly recruited EOD technician with an obligation to his partner. Said partner has documented issues with authority. Against a highly decorated Field Operations Leader with thirty years of exemplary service," Vang states. "The only other two witnesses are dead. No rescue attempts made by the agents in the field."

Jack sputters. "We were ordered to make ex-fil after the bombs went off. Waller said they were already dead. It should all be captured on the comms."

"The explosions damaged the audio," Connolley explains.

"Oh, you have the recording of my insubordination but not my rescue attempt." Jack sits back breathing heavily. He tries to catch Mac's gaze. The kid's staring straight ahead, jaw clenched, panting. He's leaning so hard to the right that he's practically planking across the armrests.

This is too much. Where is Patty with that damned ace up her sleeve that he promised Mac.

The door to the conference room opens. One of Patty's nameless assistants walks in, handing her a file before disappearing again.

Patty's face betrays nothing. "I noted that you didn't include Griggs and Hadley's Action Reports."

A peculiar look crosses Connolley's face. "Director Thornton, Griggs and Hadley are dead, there are no After Action Reports."

"And you're trying to pin your agency's incompetence on my agents. Luckily, at least two of your agents had some measure of foresight," she opens the file. "This is a preliminary action report, filed by Agents Griggs and Hadley, through their handler, on the morning of their deaths. Requesting an inquiry be opened into Field Operations Leader Waller's actions on this mission. It also calls into question other missions that are part of his thirty year service record."

Vang shifts uncomfortably. "How did you get that? Preliminary reports aren't generally shared outside-"

"When it involves my agents, there is no length I won't go to," Patty interrupts. "I believe we're done here, unless you would like DXS to run point on this?" She offers innocently.

Jack has never seen a group of CIA agents scramble so hard to leave a debrief. He cackles in delight, as Connolley mutters a lightning-speed closing narrative to the conclusions found in the debrief, and the three CIA operatives rush for the door, nearly leaving behind their equipment and files.

Thornton stands, straightening the jacket of her pantsuit. A satisfied smile on her face.

The cat that got the canary and the cream, Jack thinks.

She pauses behind Jack's shoulder on her way out the door. "Did you doubt me, Dalton?"

Jack turns in his chair to face her, shaking his head. "I never will again, Patty." He watches her eyes snap, and smiles. This new working relationship might be fun. The conference room door slides closed.

"Hey," Jack nudges Mac's arm, just the two of them left in the room now "It's over, man."

Mac looks up, stricken. "It is?"

Jack's brows knit together at Mac's soft voice and pain-filled eyes. "Yeah, all finished, bud."

"I'm sorry, Jack," tears fill his eyes. "It's my fault. Maybe, maybe I can talk to Thornton, you're worth more to her. Or sign up for another tour to keep you out of the Army, and you can retire if you want to."

"What are you talking about?" Jack asks, worried.

Perspiration beads on Mac's forehead. He stands, the chair scuttling backwards. He nearly takes a swan dive at the change in position. Would have hit the floor if not for Jack's strong arms catching him.

Mac yells in pain, hands protectively bracing his abdomen. "You're always catching me, and I can't even watch your back."

The kid's skin is hot under Jack's hands. "What's going on, hoss? Are you hurtin' somewhere? Thought you were gonna tell me if something was going on with you?"

Mac curls in on himself, guarding.

Jack pries Mac's hands away, but the kid is strong. "Let me see, Mac," he says pulling opened Mac's shirt and pushing away his undershirt. Jack freezes as the sight of five bandaids scattered across Mac's distended stomach. "What the hell?"

Jack's mind races, trying to figure out what he's looking at, how he missed Mac getting hurt. It can't be from the mission. There wasn't a time when Mac far enough away from him to be injured and Jack not notice.

The injuries don't make sense. They aren't bullet holes or knife wounds. Possible shrapnel, but the only explosion all mission was the one outside the warehouse that took out Griggs and Hadley. There's no way Mac could have been hit by flying debris.

"Patty!" Jack yells, hoping she's not too far down the hall to hear him. "Get a medic!"

* * *

Mac's bleary eyes open. His mind feels cloudy, floaty. There's a pinch in his arm, and the sensation of cool fluid running up his veins. A blood pressure cuff cycles, squeezing his bicep then releasing. His eyes slowly scan the room. Hospital bed, but it doesn't resemble the hospital room he left this morning. It takes him a moment to identify it as DXS medical, having been here only once, a few weeks ago for a mandatory physical.

"You waking up, hoss?" Jack's voice mellow and soothing.

Mac grunts, his throat feels like sandpaper.

"Here," Jack raises the head of the bed, and holds out a cup with a bendy straw. "Not sure when the last time you had something to eat or drink was. They said you could have clear liquids when you woke up."

Mac ducks his head, he's not sure either. He sucks on the straw greedily. Water cool on his parched tongue.

"Just a little bit," Jack says, pulling the cup away. "Don't need you getting sick. I imagine that wouldn't feel real good right now."

Mac keeps his head down, avoiding Jack's penetrating gaze.

"Hey, did you know you're missing an appendix?"

Mac nods miserably, not meeting Jack's gaze.

"You didn't do it yourself, did you?"

"What?!" Mac asks incredulously, looking up finally.

"Use that little red knife of yours and take out your appendix yourself with Bozer as a scrub nurse?"

Mac raises an eyebrow. "No," he says slowly. "Why would..."

"No, I'm just, I'm just trying to figure what level of dumb your brain went to, cause you know, walking yourself out of a hospital, not even waiting to sign yourself out against medical advice, eight hours after surgery and coming in for a debrief might have just been the tip of the iceberg of dumb. You obviously thought that was something you could handle, so I don't know. Maybe you thought you'd try your hand at surgery too?"

Mac gapes at him.

"That low grade fever your surgeon mentioned this morning, probably could have been headed off if you had stuck around the hospital a few hours. Gotten that last dose of antibiotics you were supposed to. And not stressed yourself out sitting up for hours trying to defend yourself against bogus accusations."

"You talked to my surgeon?" Mac asks surprised.

"Bozer did, when he showed up at the hospital and you were missing, causing a ruckus. That's why he was calling me this morning. But you knew that, didn't you?"

Jack rubs a hand across his stubble. "You remember our conversation yesterday where you promised to let me know if anything was going on with you?"

"Well, yes," Mac hedges. He doesn't know why. He knows it's not a good idea, but he can't stop the words spilling out. "But what I promised was to let you know if there was something that you needed to worry about."

A myriad of expressions that Mac can't quite read cross Jack's face, but he very clearly sees Jack close his eyes and count to ten. Mac starts to speak, but Jack holds up a finger, counting to ten again. Then once more for good measure. He takes a deep breath.

"I would say, that if one of your vital organs is in danger of exploding, that might be something you'd want to let me know. For future reference," Jack's voice is quiet, deadly calm.

"An appendix isn't vital."

"Damn it, Mac!" Jack smacks his hand against the bedside table, and stands up. He takes a step away from the bed with a deep breath, then whirls back to face the kid. "Any organ, vital or otherwise, imploding, exploding or incapacitating you in some way!" Jack paces, short stalking steps. "I need to know about these things. How am I supposed to do my job and protect you if you aren't honest with me?"

"It was just a debrief," Mac mumbles.

"Yeah, yeah, it was just a debrief. So why risk it?"

"What if they said it was our fault?"

"It wasn't our fault," Jack shakes his head, confused. "It wasn't our op, it wasn't our call."

"But what if they said it was. What if they they looked at all the reports and said we were responsible for Griggs and Hadley's deaths and we weren't there to defend ourselves."

Jack shrugs, the fight leaving him. "Then they'd have been wrong."

"You said they were looking for a scapegoat," Mac blinks.

"Well, yeah, they wanted to pass the buck, and that pisses me off. And it pisses me off that Patty made you sit through that whole CIA inquisition," Jack says. "But it was a formality."

"I just had to make sure that they wouldn't send you to Afghanistan."

Jack frowns. "What are you talking about, hoss?"

"When Director Thornton realizes I'm a liability, she might decide I'm not worth the favors it took to get the Army to discharge us. And then what happens? If DXS doesn't want me, do I have to go back to the Army? I've never been more relieved to leave anywhere than I was that desert. I thought I was going to die there," Mac confesses, blinking hard. Emotions bubbling close to the surface. "But I couldn't let my mistakes mess this up for you. Even if they sent me back, I couldn't let them send you back."

Jack sits heavily in the chair next to Mac's bed. "Mac, you didn't make any mistakes."

Mac continues, as it Jack hadn't spoken. "If the CIA made enough trouble, maybe Thornton would decide we weren't worth the effort. They can't hold my failings against you."

"Mac, bud," Jack's hand rubs across his mouth. He leans forward to make eye contact. "You didn't fail. Anything that went wrong on that mission, it wasn't your fault. You did your job. You disarmed the missiles and saved the world. How'd you get your brain all tangled up again? Thought you were gonna tell me when that happened too."

"I didn't want you to worry."

"It's my job to worry, and untangle your brain," Jack smooths a hand across Mac's warm forehead. Mac pulls away from the unfamiliar motion. "That fever probably gave you a hand in gettin' everything all snarled up. And I know I didn't help with that either." Jack squeezes Mac's shoulder. "No one is sending anyone back to the Army. That's not something you have to worry about, even if you couldn't disarm the missiles. Even if you had made a mistake."

Mac's head dips again. "But they died."

"Yeah, but, bud, it's not your fault. You can do everything right and still lose sometimes. That's not anyone's fault, that's life. And that's the life of an agent." Jack continues. "If you decide that you can't do it, don't want to live with it, well, no one is sending you back to the Army if you decide you want to leave either."

"I don't want to leave," Mac says, looking up imploringly at Jack.

"You don't have to make any kind of decision about that now. You still aren't feelin' good."

"If you're staying, I'm staying," Mac states, struggling to sit up straighter in the bed. "I go where you go."

Jack smiles. "Thought that was my line. We'll have plenty of time to talk about it over the next few weeks."

Mac frowns in confusion.

"Mandatory medical leave. If your doctor doesn't want you lifting a jug of milk, I'm pretty sure she doesn't want you disarming bombs and chasing terrorists," Jack says.

Mac bites his lip. Still feeling anxious and not completely convinced by Jack's words. Still worried about being a disappointment.

"If it wasn't for my connection with Samrozi, we probably wouldn't have been tapped for that mission. We probably would have gotten a little time to adjust to being home," Jack reassures. "Plenty of time for you and I to have a few more discussions about what kinds of things you need to let me know about. I'm sure Bozer will have a few suggestions too."

"Oh no, Bozer," Mac's eyebrows raise and eyes widen, almost comically.

"Oh yes, Bozer," Jack nods. "You might not be in trouble at work, but you're in quite a bit of trouble at home. Oh, you are on your own with Bozer, dude. I'll take on Thornton head to head for you if I need to, but I am not standing in Bozer's line of fire."

* * *

Jack left for a bit, in search of food, and Mac's been dozing since, when a light tap on the door wakes him.

Mac blinks in confusion for a moment, before straightening up against the pillow. "Director Thornton." His eyes widen and he pulls the sheets up higher against his chest.

"Agent MacGyver," she says, stepping further into the room and glancing around. "I'm a little surprised to find out that you were the first to check out DXS' medical facilities. I thought that honor would have belonged to Dalton."

She flashes him a rare smile, sitting down at the chair vacated by Jack. "I thought maybe we should have a talk."

Mac licks his lips nervously, worried what this talk will entail.

"I don't think we need to recap your actions after this last mission. I've heard that you and Dalton already... talked that out."

"Yes, ma'am," Mac says, feeling a flush rising on his cheeks that has nothing to do with his fever.

"I just wanted to make sure you understood that I'm not going to cut you loose because a mission goes awry. I'm not that far removed from the field to forget that situations happen and agents in the field handle them to the best of their abilities. Jakarta isn't even close to some of Jack's worst missions, or mine."

"I recruited you because I saw something I could use. Mold into a truly great agent. I saw a young man with the potential to change the world. Who could do anything, and I'm grateful you chose DXS. Your contract isn't some sort of indentured servitude. Some organizations may unofficially run like that, on repayment of favors, but not DXS." She shakes her head. "If you decide you're done, you can walk away, no questions asked," she stands now, heading for the door where she pauses. "But you pull something like this again, and I will put you on probation and confine you to the lab."

"Yes, ma'am," Mac replies seriously.

Her lips twitch, and she lets the mirth shine in her normally shuttered eyes. "I appreciate the... show of respect, but ma'am isn't necessary. You can just call me Thornton."


End file.
